TITLE: To Shield and Protect

SERIES: Imperfection

AUTHOR: Macx

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)

Author’s Voice of Warning (aka Author’s Note):

English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize <g> The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are....

FEEDBACK: Loved

A loud explosion shook the ground and Barricade’s optics narrowed as he watched smoke plume in the not so far distance. Flames licked at buildings, a burning inferno close to the new explosion. Seekers were shooting through the air, looking for targets while evading shots from the ground level.

The fight was still in full flow, but far enough away for him to feel moderately safe.

The fighting had been going on for hours, no side giving in, and he knew it was only a matter of time until Megatron would retreat. Many would have perished by then, off-lined, fatally injured or crippled.

Barricade retreated back into the building he had sought refuge in. It had been one of the first to go and was nothing but a bombed-out shell. Part of the giant tower that had been next to it had collapsed and buried most of the building underneath. The basement levels had survived and that was where he had retreated to. Not because he was hiding from the Autobot forces; far from it.

A figure lay in one of the intact rooms, three levels underneath Cybertron’s surface. Barricade had placed diffusers in strategic areas to keep his, but especially his companion’s, presence hidden.

He hadn’t known Jazz would be here.

It had been an unknown factor in his attack.

Had he known, Barricade would have changed plans without drawing attention to it from his fellow Decepticons.

Now Jazz lay critically injured in the middle of a war field and Barricade couldn’t risk a single move in either direction. If he rejoined the Decepticons, Jazz might off-line permanently. If he left a message for the Autobots, a Decepticon might intercept it and he might blow his cover.

He smiled darkly. Not that he had any kind or form of cover. He was trying to survive a war that was tearing his people apart, as well as their planet. He was a shock-trooper, he was loyal to Megatron’s cause, but his spark-bonded was Optimus Prime’s second-in-command, and that particular loyalty superseded everything.

Jazz had been caught in an air strike, trapped between a rock and a hard place, and he had taken the desperate way out. It had ended in severe injuries; very severe. Barricade was no medic, but he knew his bonded was in a very bad shape. Half his face was ruined from shrapnel that had cut through the visor and left one optic a deep, energon-crusted gash. One shoulder socket had been obliterated by a sharp spike, while another one of those dangerous shards had buried in Jazz’s abdomen. The minor injuries were the cracked and splintered armor, as well as the missing pieces around Jazz’s right leg. His left leg was cut open from the knee to the hip.

Barricade’s scans had revealed that the fuel pump was not damaged, but a lot of circuits were nothing but debris. One of them was motor-control. Jazz couldn’t coordinate his limbs and his coolant vents were rattling ominously by now. That meant more circuits were failing. Barricade had ensured that the spark chamber wasn’t compromised and he checked and rechecked that quite often.

Settling down next to the critically wounded mech, Barricade did another scan, almost sighing. Things were failing more and more. He had to do something, get Jazz to one of the Autobot medics, or lose him. That was not an option.

Jazz was his to protect; it was his one and only duty toward the enemy, an Autobot. The enemy and Autobot who was spark-bonded to his very soul. Barricade had never seen a burden or a hindrance in that fact; actually he had never viewed the spark-bond as anything but a wondrous thing that had completed his existence.

Without the war they would still serve two different commanders.

Without the war Jazz would still be the very one he was today, as would be Barricade.

Without the war though… they would have shared this bond more deeply, more completely, and it wouldn’t feel this stretched and painful sometimes.

Barricade had never talked about that sensation with Jazz; they never had the time for meaningful conversations. Maybe he was the only one who felt it; maybe Jazz hid it just very well.

He ran a careful hand over the cracked armor, scanning closely. He wouldn’t let Jazz die. Not if there was something he could do.

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Jazz woke to the sensation of someone close by. His blurry mind registered a touch which seemed to search for something. When one hand of the stranger worked along his side upwards, his optics lit abruptly – at least the one working -- one hand flailing in the direction he guessed the stranger was. He was rewarded with a vice-like grip immobilizing the flail.

“Keep still.”

Barricade?

Jazz tried to sit up — only to sink back with a moan as a sharp twinge in system and a hot pain in his leg shot through him. His one remaining optic flickered badly.

A face swam into focus. Black and foreboding, red optics harsh and unforgiving. Still, it was a face that had Jazz relax a little.

“’Cade?” Aghast he noticed how weak his voice sounded.

“Do you have access to your damage control system?"

Jazz had no idea why the Decepticon would ask such a question, but he tried nevertheless -- and was greeted with failure.

"No," he rasped.

Barricade moved out of his limited field of vision and he felt touches again, some of them bringing pain and he tried not to make a sound, but it was hard.

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“Cade?” The harsh rasp spoke of a compromised voice box.

The left optic flickered a little and Barricade moved to fill Jazz’s limited field of vision once again. He had been working on trying to shut off several circuits, but whatever he touched, it hurt.

“Save your energon,” Barricade only rumbled.

“No sense in that.”

He scowled, one clawed hand clamping around Jazz’s wrist.

“Set a beacon, ‘Cade. Let them find me.”

“If you mean by ‘them’ the Decepticon troops, no,” he snarled. “And your Autobots friends are too far away.”

Jazz was silent, the flickering optic fixed on Barricade. The shock-trooper felt something inside of him clench with the unfamiliar of fear and imminent loss. He would never leave his partner; never. Their stolen moments aside, they hadn’t really had much of a partnership, but the spark-bond was more than physical closeness.

“Go,” Jazz whispered.

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll go into stasis lock. I can hang on until they find me. Just… drop a note somewhere, huh?”

Jazz tried for lightness, but he was failing. Barricade was trying for indifference; same failure.

“No,” was the steely answer.

“Barricade… please… If someone like Ironhide sees you, he’ll kill you.”

Barricade laughed darkly. “Wishful thinking on his part. I’m not that easily killed.”

Another rattle shook Jazz’s voice box. “I need to go into stasis lock.”

“Yes.”

“Cade…”

“You won’t die.” I won’t let you.

“Promise not to do anything stupid.”

“That’s usually your part, Autobot.”

A smile twitched at Jazz’s lips. Barricade leaned closer, placing careful claws against Jazz’s chest plate. He could almost feel the spark pulse underneath.

“Do it,” he whispered, dropping all pretence. Red optics glowed with an intensity rarely seen outside a battle field.

The lone blue optic responded, though rather weakly. Jazz let himself slip into stasis lock, powering down all systems, save the spark chamber, and Barricade sat back. He gazed at the seemingly lifeless shell and felt something inside his own spark constrict.

He wouldn’t let him die.

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Optimus Prime knew of the danger he was willingly, knowingly and quite openly walking into. He hadn’t gone blindly, though. He had requested intel on the fight that had taken out most of the private airport connecting the Main City with one of the Shore buildings, a small community of scientists that had either fled or reported missing. Jazz had been there, he hadn’t been seen or heard of since, and the message had included some very specific codes that only Jazz would incorporate. That the message also stated that Jazz was injured and stasis-locked had alerted Prime to the seriousness of the situation.

And he had come alone. As requested.

He knew the message hadn’t been from Jazz and only one other mech would know and use these codes. He had to trust in this mech, a Decepticon shock-trooper loyal to Megatron, not to use his injured spark-bonded to set a trap for the Autobot leader.

Then again, the war had been going on for millennia. Barricade would have had enough opportunities to abuse Jazz’s trust and he hadn’t.

Still… Optimus wasn’t naïve enough to trust easily, not even spark-bonds.

As he entered the third sub-level, gun ready, he wondered what Ironhide or Ratchet would say or do when they found out about this. Ironhide would probably blow a gasket and Ratchet… well, he, too.

When Optimus walked into the room the message had told him, he found his second-in-command, severely injured, barely any energon pulses detectable, and some of the worst damage had been patched up. Scanning for Decepticon signals he found none, but he suspected Barricade was close by. He wouldn’t leave Jazz like this. Prime knew enough about the rare spark bond to realize what it meant, what sacrifices both mechs made every day – for millennia.

“Where are you?” he asked, voice low.

No answer, but he thought he saw a shadow move. Then, with an eerie silence, the black shock-trooper stepped into the meager light. Red optics glowed darkly. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but Optimus didn’t make the mistake to think he was unarmed.

Such a difference, he mused. Black and silver, Deception and Autobot. But only on the outside. Inside their sparks they were more alike than different.

“He went into stasis lock five hours ago.”

It sounded almost accusatory. Prime knew he had wasted time checking on the authenticity of the message, as well as dodging his trusted staff to come here alone. He only inclined his head in acknowledgement, then gently picked up the injured mech.

“Thank you,” he said calmly.

Barricade’s expression didn’t waver. A dark shadow, highly dangerous, an elite force to be reckoned with, and lethal.

So much like Jazz, a voice repeated.

Barricade melted back into the shadows without a sound and Prime left the room, still trusting in the shock trooper not to shoot him in the back.

Nothing happened.

As he walked through the abandoned buildings, back toward where he had hidden a small shuttle, part of him was aware of a silent shadow following him. A strange kind of guardian, a Decepticon who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him but spared his life because of the one he was carrying.

Prime briefly entertained a thought or two as to what would happen if the Autobots won the war. What if there was a peace treaty – which he doubted? What if Barricade somehow would ally himself with them? And what if the Decepticons won? A terribly dark thought, but always a possibility.

So much could happen.

So much already had.

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Ratchet didn’t ask too many questions as Prime came back with a critically injured Jazz. He shot his leader a brief, intense look, then concentrated on his patient.

Ironhide’s expression told Prime he would be getting The Rant soon enough, but for now the worry about Jazz was predominant.

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"Pump failure!"

The cry echoed through the room, bouncing off dull gray walls and ricocheting back to audio sensors in range. Frantic action was suddenly undertaken. Portable instruments were shoved out of the way to give the helpers access, assistants handed tools and started energon feeds. Ratchet was unaware of the general pandemonium all around him. He didn't care if the world would cease to exist this very moment. For him there was only his patient, and this patient was an important one..

"Clean out the feeders and give me a blocking chips!" he demanded.

Someone complied, though he had no idea who it was.. As blocking chips started to reroute flash energy into a back-up unit, he dared to hope that he was actually accomplishing something.

"Pump status?" he asked sharply.

"Still fluctuating."

Ratchet reconnected two circuits and a shrill beep could be heard.

"Fuel pump arrest!" First Aid announced.

"Jump start it, damnit!"

More activity started.

"We got him back," Hoist finally breathed.

"That was the second time!" First Aid muttered. "He can't take any more of this."

"He has to," Ratchet growled, diving deep into the open chest cavity, trying to clean out all the dirt and fluids in there.

He removed some lodged-in shards of metal and dumped them in a small tray that was already filled with other debris.

The others exchanged looks. Jazz had been almost dead, his energon levels nearly non-existent, his systems shut down and close to terminal lock-up. The left side of his upper body looked like someone had slashed it open and then left the beam stuck inside, his leg equally mutilated and torn. When they had hooked him up to the monitors they hadn't received any signals right away and when something had come through, it had been nightmarishly low. Jazz was close to fading any second and he had had a total shut-down twice now. No one was sure how much he could take, but it was clear that he'd be beyond help soon if a miracle didn't happen.

"We have a fluctuation in the back-up unit!" Hoist suddenly called.

Ratchet cursed violently but no one so much as winced. Everyone working here felt the same.

There was too much damage.

Just too much!

Maybe if his energon levels were okay... then the injuries wouldn't tip the scales like this, but without enough power to run the basic systems, Ratchet couldn't even dream of repairing the body shell. He shook his head, his hands working like on automatic.

"How is the feed?"

Hoist checked it. "He's absorbing it, but it doesn't show any effect."

Another curse.

"Do we have a Life Unit?" Ratchet asked, never stopping his work.

"Yes, but..."

"Get it!"

First Aid shrugged and then ran off toward the med bay main hall to get the needed equipment. Ratchet knew why his comrade doubted his decision. The Life Unit was for severe injuries, to stabilize a patient for the repair, but not for such near-death cases like Jazz. It might destroy more than it helped, but it was also the only chance he saw. The Life Unit would mimic body functions to the mind, giving it a rest while the surgeon repaired the damage done to the body. The problem was that the moment the unit was removed, the mind was confronted with a still pain-filled body shell, the real body shell, and it might go haywire. Jazz was a strong personality with a strong mind and because of it Ratchet hoped that no backlash would occur.

They had to take this chance.

First Aid returned with the machine and while Ratchet still worked, the others set it up. Several minutes later, Jazz was hooked up and his systems calmed down.

"Let's get to work," Ratchet said quietly.

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Several hours later, Ratchet told them he had hooked Jazz up to an energon feed and removed the Life Unit. He would need time to repair all the damage, but for now the systems had to reenergize, stabilize, and then he could work in the rest.

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Five days later Jazz was back to his old self. He never asked how he had gotten back, and Prime only said he had located him due to a signal. The rest was left unsaid, but his second-in-command probably suspected.

“Prime,” he tried to address the subject matter once.

His leader’s optics silenced him. The whole expression told Jazz that Prime didn’t want to talk about this.

“Optimus, I never wanted this to happen,” Jazz tried again, needing to talk.

“It was my decision.”

“Yes, but… I wish he hadn’t called you.”

“Then you would have off-lined permanently.”

“You didn’t know that it wasn’t a trap!”

“I made a choice, Jazz. I made the choice to trust in what binds the two of you together. Barricade has no loyalty to me or anyone else but you. I trust him never to kill you and to this extent he had to act.”

“He could have left a beacon,” Jazz argued.

Prime’s expression silenced him. No, Barricade couldn’t have. If it had been the other way around, Jazz wouldn’t have just left his partner either.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say he was sorry for getting caught in the attack, for getting Optimus into this situation. He knew Barricade would have done everything to insure Jazz’s survival, but he had never thought his partner would go this far. He had risked his spark contacting Optimus Prime.

Thank you, Jazz only thought, addressing both the Autobot leader and his partner.

“Jazz.”

Prime’s calm, deep voice had him look up.

“It happened. I’m glad you’re alive. No one knows how and why I found you, not even Ratchet. We’ll leave it at that. In the past I have trusted that the bond would never compromise us, the Autobots, and I trust Barricade not to stab the one he has called to help you in the back. But that’s as far as I extend my trust.”

“Understood.”

Jazz almost saluted, but he left it at a nod. He left Prime’s office, mind whirling and spark aching to touch Barricade, to reassure himself that they were both all right.

It might be a while before they could meet again.

It hurt.

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Coming here had harbored on the suicidally dangerous and stupid, Barricade knew. But looking at the silver Autobot, whole and healthy, and touching his spark, was worth the risk. Jazz’s presence was calming his slightly frayed nerves, reassured him that his partner was healed and okay.

The Decepticon forces had retreated to strike again in the near-future. The Autobots had started to rebuild what could be saved and relocated those stranded without a home. For now it was an uneasy silence between the opposing parties, each busy licking wounds and regaining strengths, before striking again. Barricade knew he would be one of those spear-heading that assault. He was a shock-trooper. It was what he did best. He had killed too many to count, and crippled countless more. Not that Jazz was innocent in any way. Barricade had seen him fight; he was a force to be reckoned with.

He almost smiled at that. Only almost.

They stayed longer in their bond than ever before, but still not long enough. They could never fall as deep as they wanted, could never really let go because of the danger everywhere.

Stolen moments were all they had and they had to be enough.

It was worth it, though. Every second was worth it.

Blue optics reflected a similar emotion. No words were spoken. Jazz smiled sadly, knowing the same as Barricade did.

They parted reluctantly, the separation painful and more upsetting than any time before.

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Just a few weeks later the linchpin battle between the Autobots and Decepticons happened at Tyger Pax. It was supposed to distract the Decepticons from the Autobots’ preparations to launch the Allspark into space and many gave their lives to ensure the plan worked.

And it did.

Megatron went after it, even though the Autobots had tried to distract him, and as both disappeared inside a wormhole, forces were scrambled to pursue the Decepticon leader.

Barricade had no time to think about what he was leaving behind as the Nemesis launched. Only when he was alone did he allow memories to surface, gazing at the darkness of space, hostile and foreboding, as they searched for the Allspark and their missing leader.

Jazz was out there, too.

One day they would meet. Barricade was sure of it. It would be as enemies once more, but he didn’t care. His spark pulsed painfully at the thought, but like Jazz would never leave his Autobot friends, Barricade would always follow Megatron. He had sworn his allegiance to the former Lord Protector of Cybertron and his honor wouldn’t let him betray that oath.

Jazz had understood and accepted. Like Barricade had understood and accepted Jazz’s position and allegiance.

It was them.

Thoughts of their reunion was what kept him going. It was what had him submit to Starscream’s orders and pilot the Nemesis through space, on the trail of Megatron and the Allspark.